Goodnight, Moon
by Egg Yolk
Summary: Warning: Spoilers for the end of the FMA anime series! Alphonse goes to Central City to seek help from Roy, but there are certain things not quite right about him...
1. Default Chapter

**Title: Goodnight, Moon (draft)  
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist  
Pairing: um...I have no clue XD;; I'm so messed up. Probably Roy/Al for now. But it'll soon become Ed/Al --Roy  
Rating: For now, proabably PG-13, just to be safe.**

_A small folded up, somewhat yellowed sheet of paper was pressed under two fingers that were turning white at the tips from the pressure put on them. They slid the paper across red oak, making the slightest of sounds over the desk's surface._

"I'd like you to please find this person for me," the boy requested. His voice was shaky, and he licked at his parched lips. He wasn't too sure why he was asking for this, either. Either way, it would most likely break apart his very way of life, but...he had to find out. He **had** to.

The slip of paper was unfolded, and almond-shaped eyes skimmed over the name scribbled, crossed out, and scribbled again on the paper (indecisive like the boy who delivered it).

"Is this a joke, Alphonse?" the man asked, looking up.

"Please, Fuhrer Mustang," Alphonse's tone was an inflection above begging. "I need...I need to know. Otherwise, what do you think...I remembered all this...remembered you for?"

Those words hit like an actual, physical blow, but Roy made an effort to not show it. The only thing that showed any traces of the brutality delivered to him was a mere twitch of his eyebrows.

"Understood," Roy answered, placing the paper into his chest pocket. "I'll see if I can't bug Scheiska for the old records." He then pondered for another brief minute, his fingers up to his lips, then he looked up again. "Why do you need to know?"

What answered him was the biggest smile Roy's ever seen Alphonse give since he came to Central City months ago.  


Goodnight, Moon

_There's a nail on the door_

Roy's fingers twitched above the doorknob to his house even before he laid his hand on it. He glared at the door just inches in front of his face, at the spot leveled with his eyes. There, clear as day, was a five-inch nail hammered into the door from the other side of the door and fused with alchemy to make it even harder to get out. Al was in one of his "moods" again.

Only months ago, Al, in his restored body, came to Central City looking for Roy. Roy had heard from letters from Scheiska about his condition, and had figured that Central was going to be the last place Alphonse would step into. But sure enough, he was there, standing in the rain in front of the government building, no one recognizing him without his armour, and him not recognizing enough people to ask for help.

When asked about what he wanted, Alphonse only answered without truly answering the question: "I regained some memories" and proceeded to look distant for almost a whole of five minutes. Roy was patient here, and waited. Then, when he inquired about Al's training in Dublith, he only answered "Sensei decided that I've learned enough," which was still vague on his terms.

Al had requested that he'd be able to use his brother's name as a National Alchemist to go into some records and research for his goal to see his brother again. Roy had been reluctant at first, since it really didn't take a genius to figure out that Al, in all of his good-nature, was not Edward Elric. But he couldn't say no to something that bound Al so strongly, so he allowed it.

But it seemed like with every step he took closer to what he was looking for, he was losing something. He would get into memory lapses, mood swings, and sometimes they would get so bad that...well...

...it resulted in a nail in the door.

_And there's glass on the lawn._

Roy also noted that there had been shards of glass on the walkway up to his mansion door. He had wanted to lie to himself that it was just the neighbour's children, but with the nail on the door, it must've been Alphonse. He sometimes wondered exactly what Alphonse saw, and what he was hiding, in those glass-like eyes. They sometimes just stared off after reading for a while. At first Roy thought that it was merely to rest his eyes, but then the gray-green eyes would almost become foggy, distant. And though he didn't want to admit it, Roy had also seen a gradual change in the way Alphonse was expressing himself--or lack thereof. When he first arrived, Al was a bundle of nerves--upset, but still had expression. But now he resembled something like a doll that had only the occassional expression to show whatever was on his mind. When he went into his memory lapses and moods, it would get so bad that he would lose all function of his facial muscle and only twitch his brows slightly as he screamed.

_Tacks on the floor  
And the TV is on._

After several attempts at merely yanking the door open, Roy finally let the results sink in and drew an array on the door to get the nail out. He entered his own home (which he was locked out of for a complete half hour) to find the TV on. He didn't mind that so much, at least he had told Alphonse to do that, since there were times when Roy would be gone for more than a whole workday, and there was something to keep Alphonse occupied other than reading (though both were bad for his eyes). He pulled his boots off at the foyer and looked about. There were some tacks scattered by the television, but only a few. Thinking that it was safe, Roy decided to go and see if Al had eaten yet. He walked to the living room, where a ladder lead up to a loft above--the place where he "kept" Alphonse. There were tacks scattered in a circle around the ladder--like the way a stubborn child would "parent-proof" his room.

Ignoring them, Roy climbed up the ladder and looked a Alphonse, who was sprawled on the floor of the loft, his face half-smothered in red cloth--the red cloak his brother always wore. The moonlight seeped through the skylight above, colouring the loft a strangely eerie blue colour, dyeing the cloth almost a deep purple. Books were scattered about the loft, proof that Alphonse had most likely fallen asleep halfway through studying and researching.

_I always sleep with my guns  
When you're gone._

"Alphonse?" Roy whispered, scooting over carefully. He noted a small gun in Alphonse's hand and reached to pull it out. The fingers resisted only for the first half second, then it released, twitched, and curled back into a sleepy clutch. The boy, however, did not stir.

"Alphonse," Roy tried again, louder. The boy stirred, but only to bury his face deeper into the cloak.

"Al," Roy whispered, this time, close to Al's ear--with a slight curl of his tongue at the "l" sound. Moss-coloured eyes flew open immediately, and Roy almost (ALMOST) felt a tinge of jealousy when he saw the pure, child-like expectation that flashed across Al's features. That feeling was quickly replaced with a hint of guilt when disappointment (and a bit of resentment?) melted onto Alphonse's face.

"Oh."

...do they even have TVs in this universe? Cuz Al and Ed mentioned seeing a "movie" when they were little in issue 5 of the manga...


	2. Goodnight, Moon 2

Title: Goodnight, Moon

Part: 2/?

Pairing: Ed/Al --Roy

Rating: PG-13 for now

I Warning, spoilers for the end of the series. Also, warning that I don't own these characters and thus I might actually have a very bad and confused grip on them XD; /I 

lj-cut text"Goodnight, Moon 2" 

Even though Al didn't know it, or perhaps he was too busy to really pay it much mind, Roy always did something with his chair when Al decided to go and research inside the Central City's Headquarters. It was quieter inside the Fuhrer's huge office, and he himself had an extensive library, so when Al was feeling up to it, he would go in and study. This was when he was in one of his better moods--when he was more "Al." But even then, very few words were exchanged between Roy and Al, perhaps because Al regarded the older man still as a stranger.

Which is the reason for the whole chair thing. At first, Al had been so uncomfortable with Roy that he would sit at the edge of the office, close to the door. So close, in fact, that when Hawkeye came in to hand the Fuhrer the rest of his papers for the day, the edge of the door had nearly taken off the boy's knee. Thus, Roy had no choice but to "tame" Alphonse. It sounded almost like he was faced with a wild animal--but from the place that Alphonse originated from, Roy sometimes had to wonder if all the children were like this.

It was a simple process, really. Roy first put a chair of moderate quality in the office that was more mobile than the large armchairs and couches in the office, proclaiming it "Alphonse's chair." The chair was placed only a few feet away from the door, a comfortable distance from Roy's desk--far. Al sat in it without question, and the day was spent with Roy signing papers and Al mumbling under his breath the words inscribed on the pages of the volumes he had borrowed from the library. The next day, Alphonse had felt good enough to come in and study in the office again (most because he was still not used to the city life), and didn't say anything about the chair being moved a couple of inches closer to Roy's desk. First Roy had pulled the distance in at inches, but now he's moved up to a few feet at a time. But usually after Alphonse had gone through one of his "moods," he would come in and note, with a sharp eye, how far exactly the chair had been moved, and drag it back to the position it was in yesterday--or even further.

That would be the explanation of why, today, Alphonse was sitting in a position that was about three yards away from Roy's desk. Just a week ago, the last time Al came to visit the office, he had been sitting at half that distance away from Roy's desk, but due to the "fiasco" (Hawkeye had claimed that he was really overreacting) that Roy pulled last night, Alphonse had immediately yanked the chair across the carpet to three yards away. Even though the task was quite hard with five huge volumes tucked under his arm, Alphonse refused any help from anyone, especially Roy. Now he was reading silently into the heavy books he borrowed from the library, his two hands holding the spine of the book--the way he would hold it. Sometimes Roy caught him scratching at his chin the way that Edward would when he read, but whenever he looked up to catch Alphonse doing that, the boy would return his hand to the spine of the book once more.

The skies have been gray recently with the looming presence of a cold winter, and today's temperature--stepmother's breath. It was hard to tell exactly when they were during the day, and it was even harder to tell when there was so much paperwork to do. Roy pulled his silver pocketwatch out and glanced at it, satisfied to see that it was lunchtime. He looked up at Alphonse, who was digesting his third book of the day, and slid out from his large desk chair.

"Alphonse," Roy called out (careful not to use the shortened version). "What do you say we go out to lunch?"

The boy blinked, once, twice, then the irises of his eyes skimmed over what seemed like two more lines, and then Alphonse stood up. The edge of his lips twitched unsuccessfully for a brief second, then finally broke into a smile, and Roy took that as forgiveness from the boy (since he had not even glanced at the man this morning as they were leaving the house). Roy grabbed his jacket and then handed Alphonse his own, which Alphonse put on with another light smile. He was in a good mood today.

The two of them went to a small restaurant that was close to the headquarters, since Roy didn't think that his papers (as much as he hated them) could wait for a really long and extravacant lunch. He could catch up with a good and expensive dinner later.

"So how's the studying coming along?" Roy inquired after the two of them received their drinks.

"It's going all right," Alphonse answered. Polite, but vague. Roy nodded, trying not to feel offended, and took a sip of his drink. In the months he'd spent with this boy, he tried not to feel too offended when Alphonse didn't look at him, or when sometimes he questioned without receiving a really exact answer. He figured that this was how the boy really was, or that something was wrong with him. Reasoning being that when they had first met, Alphonse had been a suit of armour, and after that his brother's eccentric personality had mostly overlapped Alphonse, making it hard to get a true feel of what Alphonse's personality was. The second reasoning was that sometimes, by habit and his memory lapses, Alphonse would just stare off into space and do anything, much less answering or looking at anything. In fact, Roy had known something was wrong right from the get-go when Alphonse showed up at Central City saying that he could not meld into a world where the world had sped up some four years without him. Roy had thought that the boy was stronger than that, but he wasn't in a position to speak, really.

Across the table, Alphonse fiddled with the silverware and picked at the tablecloth, not too used to the semi-rich settings of the restaurant (Roy wondered, with mild amusement, whether or not he'd bolt if he took him to the ritziest place in town). When the food was served, Al accepted it with a smile and a small nod, both hands receiving the plate. It was a pasta dish with fried shrimp on the top, a strange combination.

"It was Niisan's favourite when he came to this restaurant in Central City," Alphonse admitted with a small grin.

"So you remember that much already?" Roy asked as he began to cut his steak. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alphonse nod across the table. "What else do you remember?"

Al's eyes went distant for a bit as he tried to remember, and he put his knuckles to his chin to think, but then nodded when he pieced together a memory.

"A huge oceanliner sank...tons of people died, but I don't think Niisan really paid attention to it."

Roy's brows furrowed and he looked up. "When was this?"

"1912."

Roy couldn't say that he was a real expert in history, but then again, he also couldn't say that he knew exactly what an "oceanliner" was. From the compound word, it sounded like a huge ship...he'll have to check later.

Al poked at his food and bit into a few pieces, enjoying them merely for their smell and the small, initial taste. He wasn't too hungry right now, so he figured that he'll pack the rest up. He'd never been too hungry when he came to Central City, and he tried to credit that to the city climate that was making him unused to the environment around him, making his appetite go. But he couldn't really understand why he was so fascinated by just the taste and smells of things sometimes--hadn't he always experienced these senses? He figured that it must have been because of what Winry had told him before about how he'd spent some four years as a gigantic piece of armour. Maybe that's why he would go insane with some really new or intense sense that rushed to him, and maybe that's why he couldn't figure out why he would feel satiated by only a bit of food, enough that he could actually eat only for pleasure on some days.

He also tried not to think about another thing that ate for pleasure.

/lj-cut 

Points to those who can figure out the small references in this chapter/


	3. Goodnight, Moon 3

Title: Goodnight, Moon

Chapter: 4/?

Pairings: Ed/Al --Roy

Ratings: PG-13

lj-cut text"Goodnight, Moon 4" 

Roy didn't usually allow himself to walk behind anyone, but whenever he walked about with Alphonse, he would walk a few steps behind him. At first it was because of the whole idea of personal space. When Roy walked next to Al as they walked about the city, he had noticed that the colour in Alphonse's face would turn pale, as though uneasy. Now, however, it was merely because if there was no such distance it would be Roy who would be uneasy. He had learned, by the hard way, that if he allowed Alphonse to walk behind him, the boy would often disappear and reappear with tons of cats. It was discomforting, to say the least, and thus Roy had come to accustom himself to walk behind the boy--and only him.

The weather today was still foggy, so thick it was almost pea-soup, and it dampened coats almost to the surface of the clothes underneath. Two pairs of feet walked, leisurely, against the cobblestone streets, stepping into would-be puddles to delay their becoming of full-fledged puddles. The lighter foot-steps were more playful today, almost skipping, purposely splashing into the bigger puddles and missing the smaller ones. The owner of such footsteps hummed a small tune, the same one he had been singing with the children a moment ago.

"You seem to be in a good mood today," Roy noted, picking up his pace. Al turned his head and nodded, giving a small smile.

"Yes," he answered. He stopped skipping and waited for Roy to catch up.

"Did something good happen?" Roy asked.

"I found some books on bio-alchemy," Alphonse answered. That was really al he needed to say, and Roy nodded. He watched Alphonse continue to walk, ahead of him, small puffs of white breath whispering from his lips as he hummed.

"Alphonse," Roy called. The footsteps stopped, and Alphonse turned again to look at Roy. "It's cold," Roy continued. "Do you awnt to hold hands?" He offfered his one hand, warm from the haven of his blazer jacket. Alphonse glanced at the hand for a brief second before smiling and taking it. The larger hand was held loosely, their palms not touching, but their fingers, which were originally frozen stiff-red, warmed up considerably. Alphonse's hand was small, and fit well enough into Roy's fingers, but he kept his fingers loose against Roy's. He gave their joined hands a small swing at first, but stopped after a while in fear of annoying Roy, and began to sing under his breath.

"How much is that dog in the window?

The one with the waggley tail..."

"Alphonse," Roy interrupted him, his hand tightening a bit. "What are you going to do...when you...accomplish your goal?" Those moss-green eyes seemed to give a quick jolt, like looking from left to right within an instant, then stilled into a reverie. He then turned, his fingers loosening their hold on Roy's, to look at the tall buildings of the city, his eyes catching sight of the tallest points, as far the fog allowed his eyes to go. His eyes went as clouded as the weather today, and Roy knew that he was no longer looking at the city, but at something else. He knew that he was thinking of his brother, looking, trying to imagine what kind of world Edward was living in, a gate of hell (heaven?) away. What kind of clothes did he wear there? What kind of food was he eating? Was he thinking of Alphonse as well?

"You cannot go very far here," Alphonse whispered after a moment's deliberation. "Here in the city, I've forgotten how wide the horizon can be..."

Roy caught on to his vagueness, and hoped that it was because Alphonse didn't want to hurt him that he was being so cryptic.

"You can go many places," Roy offered. "There are many oppurtunities here. For both of you."

Alphonse lowered his head and allowed a ghost of a sad smile cross his lips. "Here, you can't go very far...even if it's straight ahead." His fingers loosened more on Roy's, and the man grabbed for them until their index to ring fingers were hooked again, leaving their thumb and pinky finger to catch the prickly weather's toil and blush at their harsh kisses. The two of them continued to step over the puddles, Roy's boots making the slightest of clicks even on the wet ground while Alphonse's steps were as light as air--it almost seemed as though no one was walking with him. Once again, Alphonse gave a small swing to their hands as they held them, and this time Roy was left wondering if it were a habit he did when he held hands with his brother, many years ago, or was it because he wanted to break away from him. He held fast, though he still let his two forgotten fingers get frozen stiff. He considered the letter he read in his office and glanced at Alphonse, whose lips were moving in silent song.

"Alphonse," Roy spoke when they got to the mansion door. "Why is it that you study alchemy?"

Alphonse broke into a peal of laughter, a very light one, like his answers to Roy's questions, as though he thought it was an obvious thing. "Why do I you /I study alchemy, Fuhrer?" he parroted.

"Is it only to bring back your brother?" Roy asked, not letting up.

"Why do you study alchemy, Fuhrer? Didn't you want to help people?" Alphonse was stubborn in this sense, himself.

Roy's one eye narrowed, and he stared at Alphonse, wondering if he should get angry. Their fingers continued to get colder, the refuge for them just a thick wooden door away, but neither made a move to go to it. Alphonse reached his free hand up and brushed at Roy's eyepatch, his eyes warm with something akin to pity. He didn't know, he didn't remember--couldn't remember what Roy had done to gotten this. Thus he'd always look upon Roy's eye like he was a poor puppy. There was no blame in this.

"...why..."

Why did Roy study alchemy? What did he do it for? To help people? He had used it to kill many people in Ishbal; so many, in fact, that he could still smell their burnt flesh in his nose, feel the grease from their bodies upon his lips. He had wanted to become a nationalized alchemist and raise to the top so that no wars like this could happen again--it all came down to helping the people. But along the lines, he thought that this was all lost. In fact, now that he was here in the throne of the Fuhrer, he hardly used his alchemy to help others. Half the time he was buried in papers. What was he doing?

"People can study all their lives...and not even be happy...not find what they're looking for..." Alphonse whispered, tilting his head a bit. "You might think that I'm selfish, but--"

Roy grabbed Alphonse's wrist and pulled him close to him, gripping him in an embrace. Alphonse's arm was stiff over Roy's shoulder, and from a distance, it looked as though he had stabbed the man through the throat with his arm. The taller man gripped Alphonse tightly, letting his face be buried into that small, slender shoulder.

"You don't need to know," he said. "You don't need to know at all. I won't ask anymore. I won't. I promise."

Alphonse seemed to struggle a bit in those arms, but did not say anything, but he didn't loosen his arm, either. He wondered about his brother then, about how it felt when he was held, like this, by Edward. He suddenly couldn't remember.

"Let's go in...it's cold," Alphonse whispered without a hint of complaint.

Roy nodded and unlocked the door, letting Alphonse in first. He followed after him and watched as the boy went to the loft to get his things down to the spare bedroom. When he came down from the ladder, he was gripping that red cloak tightly in his hands, burying his face so deeply in it that Roy wondered how he walked at all. Walking wasn't really important to Alphonse then, it seemed, as long as he could once again become familiar with what his brother is to him--linked by this sense of smell.

As he unpacked his things in the spare room, Roy heard him sing.

"I read in the papers there are robbers

With flashlights that shine in the dark

My love needs a doggie to protect him

And scare them away with one bark..."

/lj-cut 

Naoya: Are you sure this is Ed/Al --Roy? Don't tell me you've been trying to pull people in with a false pairing.

Youko: It is! Okay? Just wait... 

Naoya: riiiight...and Alphonse sings too much. What the hell?

Youko: sorry...

Naoya: And you were reading "The Little Prince" before this, weren't you?  
Youko: Just...shut...up...


	4. Goodnight, Moon 45 and 5

Goodnight, Moon 4.5

Edward had learned, after about a few weeks in Germany, that his prostetic arm was not made for really much of anything. He had known that it wasn't as good as an automail arm, but he hadn't anticipated how utterly useless it was--almost. Mostly, the thing was really there so that he didn't scare children with his missing arm (up to the shoulder) on the streets. There really wasn't much he could do with it, except have an extremely loose grip on things--he usually had to cradle everything he held with his right hand. The right hand really couldn't hold much.

He had forgotten about that one fine, drizzly afternoon.

"Edward, what happened?"

"I dropped the phone, okay?" Edward snarled through the phone, which was now being held by his left hand. "So what's up?"

"A direction?" Hoenheim answered with a chuckle.

"God, shut...you know what I meant!" Ed shouted impatiently. He really did not have time to take stupid phonecalls from his father when he could be doing more research.

"How are you doing, Edward?" his father said softly, suddenly serious.

"Okay, I guess," Ed answered neutrally.

"How are your studies going?" Hoenheim asked, glancing at his morning papers.

"Okay," Edward said, wanting to end this conversation quickly. He had books to read, theories to write--he couldn't be wasting time with small talk. He tapped his left foot, which made a strange hollow sound, and checked the clock on the wall.

"Listen, Edward," Hoenheim said after a long pause. "There's something I need to tell you..."

"Look, Dad," Ed sighed into the phone. "I'll call you back, okay? If you need to wait that long to tell me something, it can wait." He hung up without another word and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before going back to his books. On the other end of the line, his father picked up the newspaper and narrowed his eyes at a small article that seemed to be written just to be forgotten, nestled in the far corners of the last few pages. Every several minutes, Ed would raise his head to check the clock, and look out the window. He often wondered, between scribbling new theories, how Al was doing. The weather in Transylvania was always somewhat chilly, a little bit foggy and drizzly more often than not. How was the weather where Al was? How was he eating? Did he dress warmly enough?

With a heavy heave of his breath, Ed set his pen onto the table and glanced at his prostetic hand, letting his fingers click together in a loose fist.

Was Al thinking of him, too?

Goodnight, Moon 5

There were certain times and days when Roy knew, by the way Alphonse acted the night before, whether Al was going to go to the library or the office to study. Usually the way he acted, however, also depended on Roy's actions. Roy knew that by the way Alphonse reacted to his questions yesterday, he could expect Alphonse to probably stay in the library for the rest of the week. Therefore, it was his job to leave some money for Alphonse to buy lunch.

He didn't expect, however, to find the boy masturbating on the bed. At first he had heard strange noises from the room, which he thought were credited to a nightmare. But when he opened the door just a crack to check on Al (earlier lesson learned: sneaking up on Alphonse when he is having a nightmare merits combat alchemy to be unleashed on your person) he found the boy thrusting into his own hand on the bed. The sight alone riveted Roy's feet to the ground.

By the languid way the boy was moving, it was hard to tell whether or not Alphonse was dreaming, but, by God! How could someone do something so mind-shattering to watch, awake or asleep?

The boy's chest pressed against the sheets, his hardened nipples rubbing mercilessly against them as he thrusted his hips in a slow rhythm that steadily grew faster, and harder. He kept his knees bent onto the bed, and the balls of his feet dug into the bed to keep his ass in the air, his free hand also supporting his weight. Colour slowly rose to his cheeks, giving his skin a strangely warm glow that sent a rush of blood through Roy's body as he watched. His thumb and index finger rubbed at the tip until he got his fingers just a little wet, then he placed those fingers to his opening, pressing them in with a moan. The wet sound produced by that very act was enough to make Roy hard, and the man groaned despite himself. Unable to stop himself, he continued to watch as Alphonse now held his member with his right hand and began to move. His loosely held fist slid over his penis in an up and down motion while his hips matched that motion, thrusting his member into his hand and then sending his fingers deeper into himself, producing that moist sound each time. This continued for a good five minutes, but to Roy it felt like somewhere between a split second or eternity. Eventually, Alphonse's motions slowed down, but then he did the unthinkable. Panting, shuddering, and as vulnerable as the day he was born, the boy blindly reached for the red cloack that hung on his bedpost. The next thing he said was enough to make Roy feel as though he'd been hit head on by a speeding train.

"N-niisan..." was the muffled sigh.

Roy backed away slowly and retreated as Alphonse climaxed and collapsed onto the bed, deep in his reverie.

"Fuhrer," Alphonse called. "Are you all right?" It was unusual for Alphonse to wake up and not find Roy in the kitchen, and even more so for him to find the man in the bathroom on the other end of the mansion.

"I'm sick," Roy muttered from the other side of the door.

"Shall I call someone?" Alphonse asked, concerned.

"No," Roy said, hoping he didn't sound too hostile. "You go on ahead, I have to let the maid in." There was silence for a brief moment from the other side of the door, and then Roy heard, to his relief, Alphonse's retreating footsteps.

It was only about five minutes after Alphonse left that Marci, Roy's hired maid, came to the house. There wasn't much to say about Marci, really, since she only came once a week to clean up the house and cook meals only when she was called to. She was a rather heavy-set woman with a thick accent that Roy couldn't pinpoint, and a very warm smile. She'd seen Alphonse before, but never talked to him or learned his name, since Roy never introduced them. And since Alphonse cleaned up after himself and she wasn't able to climb up to the loft, she never washed anything of his.

Today, however, she found that one of the many spare rooms in the mansion was being used, and began to clean it up. Soon she emerged from the room with an armful of sheets and some laundry.

"Fuhrer," she called to Roy, who was getting ready to leave for work (from her mouth, it sounded like she was saying "fur"). "So much laundry, wash them all?"

Roy pulled his military boots on and glanced at the pile of laundry, at the bit of red poking out between the white sheets.

"Wash them."

And he was out the door.


	5. Goodnight, Moon 6

Title: Goodnight, Moon

Chapter: 6/?

Pairing: Ed/AlRoy

Rating: PG-13

Even though the name "Fullmetal Alchemist" was quite well known throughout the country, there weren't that many people who knew exactly what Edward Elric looked like. Sure, there were some who knew him because of coming in direct contact with him, but most of the population had only heard of his deeds (many of them quite gaudy) and prompted rumours to spring up. But, rumours or no, Roy still felt it unsafe to let Alphonse run about with that name attached to him, since the boy was using it to seek out rare alchemy documents—which is why he had assigned him a bodyguard. At first Alphonse protested to the idea, but figured that he couldn't do much to waver Roy's decision and so let the bodyguard follow him about. He didn't know the woman, and didn't know why she always looked at him with such a pitiful look. He couldn't say he hated it; he didn't like it, to say the least, but either because he was too polite or the woman was extremely nice to him, Alphonse didn't choose to dismiss her. On occasions, when he is feeling in a good mood, he would even chitchat with her and her partner on small, trivial things. She was careful about who he saw, and he wondered, sometimes, how she knew of the people he would like to see and the people he wouldn't like to see (mostly because he didn't know them).

But usually, he just let that sort of thought stay in the back of his mind while he read his books and researched in the confinement of the small studying room tucked in the back of the library.

"A—Edward," Maria Ross whispered, a peek of her face showing through the small crack she opened in the door. "You have visitors."

Alphonse looked up from his stack of notes and stared at her blankly. He'd never had visitors before, usually not for himself. Maria knew how to screen his visitors, so why did she allow some to come in now?

Seeing his puzzled face, Maria opened the door more to show who exactly she was talking about. For a moment, Alphonse's confused expression turned into a facade that held no expression—looking on blankly at the two girls who entered the room. Only after a few seconds did his face finally break into a huge grin, and only then did he get up from his chair.

"Winry!" he shouted in greeting. Winry beamed at him and strolled towards him in huge strides; she hadn't seen him for almost a year, and she had missed him.

But when she opened her arms to embrace him, Alphonse took a small couple of steps back, suddenly timid. Even though she looked like Winry, and definitely sounded like Winry, it still shocked Alphonse sometimes that the girl he grew up with, the girl next door, all of a sudden grew some four, five years older without him knowing it. He felt as though she was a five-year-old stranger sometimes, and his body would move subconsciously to that thought—that they were actually quite far apart. The distance between them was the four years he had missed, and yet had somehow lived, as she had told him many times before when he would scream at the sight of her. He knew that she was telling him the truth, but how was he to know anything when he couldn't recall a single adventure she had described to him that she had experience with them?

Winry, however, did not let that move deter her. Sure, it hurt to see Alphonse act this way, but she couldn't blame him, and she just decided that it was because of Scheska's presence. That was the excuse that Alphonse usually gave her when she was in the room with someone else he didn't know—that he was shocked by I their /I presence, not Winry's. So, now, she put her fists on her hips and shook her head, forcing a smile at Alphonse's lack of improvement on part of his memory.

"Oh, come on, Al," she scolded lightly, "you know who this is, it's Scheska! It's not like you to have such a horrible memory." She smiled to emphasize that she wasn't hurt by the small, subtle action that Al made, and then turned her head to wink at Scheska. It was a silent apology that she had used her as a way to calm Al down. Al shifted in his place, looking guilty, and then tried his best to smile at Winry as though what he had done really wasn't that bad, that it wasn't like he had some sort of strange disease. He'd seen that Scheska girl enough times to know her quite well, and he knew that she was a good friend of Winry's. In fact, by the complete unfamiliarity of their first meeting, he actually felt more comfortable that she was someone else who entered into his life rather than an old friend who just suddenly transformed. He nodded courteously and motioned for the two girls to sit while he tried to clear the table off of papers.

"So what are you guys doing here?" Al asked, stacking his papers to one side of the table, and the books to the other.

"Oh, Scheska's coming back to Central City to continue her job," Winry explained. "She said that she couldn't stay in the countryside for forever."

"It's very nice there," Scheska protested lightly, "but I just couldn't keep bothering all of you." She shrunk back in her seat and squirmed, either from nervousness or itchiness to flip through some of the books Alphonse had stacked up. Alphonse smiled palely at her, his eyes squinting a bit when he did that. She almost reminded him of his brother when he walked into a bookstore when they were little but was told to "not touch anything." He looked away at that thought, and somewhere deep inside himself, he scolded himself for having compared his brother to a girl. Edward would have probably taken it the wrong way and shouted something like "who are you saying is so short that he looks like a girl" or something of the sort. Alphonse tapped his finger on the table with a nostalgic look, almost ignoring the two girls for the briefest moment.

"Well, I wish you good luck," he said to Scheska, looking back up at her. He must have not been in that small daydream for long, since the two of them didn't mention anything about it. Either that, or they were too accustomed to his spells to really say anything about it anymore. Scheska nodded with a small, hunched-up bow, and tried her best Winry-like grin, which she failed. But the smile still looked nice.

"So would you like to come and stay with me when you're in the city, Winry?" Alphonse suggested, not wanting to ignore Winry even though her strange presence distressed him.

She shook her head and held up a hand of polite refusal.

"You live with that Mustang guy, right?" she said, her voice very obviously trying to hide whatever resentment (which Alphonse never quite understood, and she never told him) she had towards the man. "I don't know…sounds like his house would have tons of rules I can't take. Besides, I have to help Scheska move her luggage back into her house. The villagers gave her a bunch of crops to eat here, telling her that she won't get vegetables any fresher in the city."

At that, Alphonse gave a small ring of laughter, which Winry smiled at. It was nice to hear him laugh, and it was comforting for Alphonse to hear these things about the village. It was familiar to him, and it didn't feel like he had missed out on anything as long as these things didn't change. He was pretty sure that if he had heard from Winry that everyone in the village had gone off and joined the army, he would go insane from the sheer shock. For a good minute, the three of them just enjoyed the sort of laughter that came from sharing homeland stories (though Scheska just tittered). When it was finally over, Winry sighed and glanced at Al, glad that he was at least still laughing. She wanted to comment and question about how Roy Mustang was taking care of Al, but decided against it with a mental wave of her hand. Instead, she reached into a shopping bag that she had brought with her and produced a small potted cactus.

"What's this?" Al asked as she slid the object across the table towards him.

"It's a potted cactus," she stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

"I can see that…" Al muttered, giving her something like a playful glare.

"It's for you, since you don't seem to have anything else to do other than read. Besides, there aren't that many plants here in the city. So it's low-maintenance, and you can enjoy something green!" Winry explained excitedly, proud of herself.

"Well…" Alphonse squeezed out of his throat, looking down sheepishly at the cactus. "I don't think I'll really be needing this…when I achieve my goal, I'll return to Resembool." He took the pot, though, and felt the coarse clay pot it nestled in within his cupped hands. The look from Winry was sending chills of guilt down his spine, and he pulled the pot towards him.

"I'll keep it," he said, finally, getting up. "I guess I should take this home, then…I don't think the library staff would be too happy with me keeping a plant in here." He cradled the small plant within his arms as he stood up, looking down at it with small bits of fascination at how something so small could hold life as well. He had to fight the urge to go and feel the prickly surface of the thing to figure out how the thing was structured. But he really couldn't see himself taking care of this thing, as fascinating as it was; he hardly had time to go to sleep at night, with his researching.

From across the room, Maria Ross glanced at his movements and got up from the chair she was seated upon by the door.

"Are you going home now, 'Edward?'" she asked, getting ready to open the door for him.

"Yes, I'm just going to put this plant back at the house, I'll come back later, please don't remove my books," Al said softly. He then turned to face Winry and Scheska, who were also getting up from their seats. "Are you guys sure that you don't want to come sit for a while?"

They both declined politely, shaking their heads with a warm smile. Al cocked his head to one side, slightly disappointed, but also somewhat relieved. Sometimes he just didn't know how to face Winry, and where to look when he was speaking to her. He blamed that latter part on the fact that he was getting to "that age," too.

"Then I guess I'll see you around," he murmured as he walked out, hoping that he didn't sound too cold.

The walk from the library back to the Mustang Estates was rather long, and even though Maria had offered to drive him home, Alphonse turned the offer down on the accounts that the walk would be good for him. The worried look Maria gave him only made him all the more desperate to walk alone—he hated to be taken as some sort of fragile creature just because he had, according to him, lost his memory. He had managed to learn the streets and alleys of the city well enough to get home by himself, and he was old enough. Thus, he gave Maria the next hour or so off while he strolled home to put the plant in the house. He promised that yes, he'll be back, and no, he won't get into any trouble.

When he stepped into the house, he went to his room and set the cactus by a small corner, hoping that he would be able to forget about it soon and not feel guilty if it died. But already he felt guilty at his own mentality, at how much it was like people who deserted pets. Sighing, Alphonse went to grab for the cloak he hung on his bedpost, hoping that the memory of his brother would at least give him some comfort. When they were little, Edward had always been the one who would tell him to get over losing something, or get over breaking something, because not everything lasted forever.

But when his hand caught nothing, Alphonse got worried and stood up to find that the cloak was no longer in his room.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small flutter of something red, beckoning him to turn his head and look out the window.

That afternoon, he never returned to the library.

"Furher," Hawkeye called out on the other side of the office door as she knocked on it. "Your guests are here to see you."

"Send them in," Roy ordered. He reached into his desk drawer and leafed through several sheets of paper before pulling out the letter he had taken from Edward's belongings.

The door was opened, and Roy's guest came stomping in, apparently quite impatient and unhappy about being called here. She threw herself onto the large couch in the room without even being offered a seat, and glared up at Roy.

" I Furher /I ," she said, grinding out the word as though it were a nasty curse word.

"Mrs. Curtis," Roy answered smoothly, not letting her discontent freeze him in his steps. He'd heard about her from the Elric brothers, and he wouldn't like to be in the path of her wrath—not that he was afraid of her—but because he wouldn't really be able to do anything about it. "Thank you so much for coming."

"So what is this about?" Izumi asked.

Roy walked across from where she sat so that there was at least a coffee table between the two of them, and offered the letter across the table. She glimpsed at the piece of paper questioningly and then picked it up between her two fingers, flipping it open to read it. As she did, Roy noticed that her eyes (perhaps like his when he had read it) grew steadily wider. When she finished, she peeked over the rim of the letter and her brows furrowed, but no longer with anger.

"Is this true?" she asked, her tone grave.

"That's why I called you over," Roy explained. "Has he…been able to retain anything you've taught him?"

"He's absorbed it better than he did the first time, actually," Izumi admitted with a tinge of pride in her voice.

"Then…this letter…" Roy motioned with his gloved hand at the letter, which Izumi had let fall back onto the tabletop.

"I wouldn't dismiss it right away," Izumi advised. "I know the handwriting…it's their father's. I don't think he would lie about something like this."

Roy clasped his hands together and leaned over to place his chin against the top of his joined hands, contemplating the situation.

"Also…I wouldn't let him see it unless we find out some things, either," Izumi said over the cranking gears of Roy's thoughts.

Roy nodded in agreement and leaned over to take the piece of paper, folding it up and placing it into his uniform pocket. Just then, Hawkeye knocked on the door outside and let herself in, indicating that whatever she had to say was rather urgent. Roy turned his attention over to her while making sure that the letter was secure inside his coat pocket.

"What is it?"

"First Lieutenant Ross just came in, sir," Hawkeye reported, "she said that Alphonse-kun has not returned to the library for hours. She's been to the residence and found that the doors and the windows have been completely bolted by alchemy."

Upon hearing that, Roy sighed and stood up, pulling his long overcoat to step out of the office, most likely for the rest of the night.

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Curtis," Roy said before he left. "My assistant will escort you to the station." His dismissive tone told Izumi that he wished to handle the situation himself, and that she should go and research the strange issue mentioned in the letter. Figuring that this was probably not her place to really stick her nose in, even though she worried about Alphonse, she allowed herself to be escorted out by Hawkeye. On the whole way to the train station, she hoped that Alphonse was going to be all right.

What she didn't know, however, was that when Roy went home, not only was he faced with an utterly plant-insulated house but also raised stone spikes on the walkway up to the doors.

When Roy finally got through those things and managed to get into the house, the first thing that greeted him was a hand on his throat.

To be continued.


End file.
